Misbegotten Munchies
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is a fic for the upcoming Con Man web series with Alan Tudyk and Nathan Fillion. Jack Moore decides it would cheer up his best friend friend Wray Nerely to give a treat to fans camped out waiting for a Spectrum panel, but things go wrong. Characters of Wray and Jack belong to Alan Tudyk. The M rating is for language. Blackboots and Bluesocks are my invention.


Misbegotten Munchies

Jack clapped Wray Nerely on the back. "Hey, it's great they want you to do live commentary on your _Festoon_ movies."

"No it isn't," Wray answered glumly. "They're doing an MST3K thing. They're running what they think are the worst movies and the fans are dressing up like robots and heckling. My movies are running right between _Plan Nine from Outer Space_ and _Santa Claus Conquers the Martians_."

"Not every movie can be great," Jack said. "I mean I made, uh …, and then there was …, well never mind. They paid you. right? That's better than most actors do. It's not like you're waiting tables."

"I was when we met," Wray recalled. "Good thing you liked Mexican food. Your tips bought my groceries before I got Spectrum. If it wasn't for cons, I'd be working for tips again."

"Wow, you really need some cheering up," Jack decided. "The Speckies are camped out waiting for our panel tomorrow. We could go visit the line, you could soak up some adoration. It'll make you feel better."

Jack, it's you they adore," Wray protested. "Me they like a little and touch me because I've kissed you."

Jack's mouth fell open in confusion."Wait, what?"

"Remember that thing we got pulled into after six shots of tequila?" Wray reminded him. "It's on Youtube. Last I checked it had about five million hits."

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. "Oh yeah. That. Here, listen. They'll be starving out there. The Blackboots baked a bunch of brownies as a peace offering for the Bluesocks."

"Why?" Wray wondered. "Blackboots and Bluesocks hate each other."

"Well apparently the Blackboots were trying to make peace, but the Bluesocks refused to accept it," Jack explained. "They still believe that the Blackboots blocked Drake Dorton from getting an Iggy award. They've been spamming the Blackboots on Twitter, clogging up their timelines. Anyway the Bluesocks wouldn't take the brownies and they're just sitting in the Blackboot booth. We could take them and leave a donation for the Blackboot's charity. Then you can give them out on the line and be a hero."

* * *

"Where'd the brownies go?" Dory asked, looking at a table bearing nothing but a few crumbs. John pointed to a note stuck under a book. "We're feeding hungry fans. A happy surprise has been donated on your website."

"OMG!" Dory exclaimed. "Cory started puking a few hours after she made these and then Burke and Toby had a couple and now they're sick too. Who left the note?"

"I can't tell," John said, staring at an illegible scrawl. "It's just a squiggle. Can you check the website?"

Dory shook her head. "My phone died. It's upstairs charging. You?"

John groaned. "Same thing. I was live tweeting panels all day. There could be some sick people tonight."

* * *

When Wray and Jack went out to the line that snaked around the building, the fans were clustered around guitars singing The Ballad of Spectrum. When they realized who Wray and Jack were, the ground vibrated with sound. "You hand out the brownies," Jack whispered to Wray. "Get some love." Wray went down the line exchanging brownies for hugs until the last one was gone. Then he and Jack sang a couple of choruses of the ballad before waving goodbye and returning to the hotel."

"Hey," Jack told Wray. "I gotta go up to my room. My agent has me on a 'Go to Meeting' with a couple of producers. You good?"

Wray licked the stickiness from his fingers. "Yeah, that was great. Those were good brownies too. The fans should be happy. See you at the panel tomorrow." Wray headed for the hall where the movie showings were going on and took the mike to tell _Festoon_ anecdotes.

"You see, he told his bubble headed audience later, feeling hoarse and a little queasy, "I had to do twenty takes for that scene in _Blood Meal._ Every time I had to drink more of that fake blood. I mean it didn't taste bad. It was just red corn syrup. But after that many takes, I was ready to hurl. I think my skin turned a little green, which it turned out actually made me look better on screen. 'Fuck, I really am gonna hurl,'" Wray thought to himself. "Excuse me," he mumbled into the mike, running off. He barely made it offstage to grab the nearest wastebasket.

After barely making it to the end of Blood Meal, things just got worse for Wray through the night. Finally he called the desk to find out if there was a doctor on call and found out that an epidemic of sickness had struck the fans lined up outside. "Oh God," he thought to himself. "I would kill Jack, if I could move! Freakin' brownies! Love my ass! Those people are going to hate me forever. I was the one who gave the damn things out. Jack never even touched them." Wray's thoughts were interrupted by another dash for the porcelain goddess. "I will kill him," he swore. "If I live to see him again I will kill him, and if I don't, I'll haunt him. I will be his own personal demon."

Wray dragged himself back to bed and didn't move again until the sun was bursting through the windows where he had been too sick to close the drapes. Wray covered his eyes with his arm and tried to turn into his pillow. "Go away!" he yelled weakly as someone pounded on his door. He covered his head with a pillow, but it didn't help. The pounding rattled his brain. "Alright," he conceded, dragging himself to the door.

A detective accompanied by two uniformed cops flashed his badge. "Mr. Nerely? He asked. "I'm Detective Grumpage. I need to ask you some questions. May we come in?"

Wray stepped back from the door. "What's this all about?"

"Mr. Nerely, it has been reported that you handed out a number of brownies to fans lined up outside this building last night. Is that correct?"

"Yeah," Wray replied puzzled. "They were camping out for the Spectrum panel today. I wanted to give them a treat."

Grumpage snorted. "Some treat! Those brownies caused a massive outbreak of food poisoning."

Realization began to penetrate Wray's muzzy brain. "Oh, no wonder! Hey I got sick too. I didn't eat any but - I licked my fingers and - Oh God!"

"Well that's a nice cover story, Mr. Nerely, but I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station until we get this all straightened out."

"But I have a panel!" Wray protested.

"Not anymore," Grumpage declared.

* * *

Wray curled up miserably on a bench in a holding cell. "Someone to see you," a cop announced. Jack came to the bars.

Wray got to his feet. "Oh Jack! Thank God! Can you explain what happened to these people, that I wasn't trying to poison anyone?"

"Fans missed you at the panel, Wray," Jack said. "Wasn't the same without you."

"Really?" Wray asked, puffing out his chest for a moment. "Oh, never mind that. Jack, Get me out of here!"

"Working on it, Buddy," Jack assured him. "I got some Blackboots in here and they're gonna tell the cops there's no way you could have known the brownies were bad. It was just one big clusterfuck."

"And how long is that gonna take?" Wray asked.

"Don't know," Jack replied. "Wait, somebody's coming now."

There was a clicking sound as the cell door released. "Mr. Nerely, you're free to go,"  
Grumpage announced.

"That's it?" Wray asked, "no apology for the inconvenience? Just, 'you're free to go?'"

Jack put a hand on Wray's shoulder as he walked out of his cell. "Don't talk your way into any more trouble. Let's just get out of here. My car's outside."

"You know Jack," Wray accused as they made their way to Jack's car, "this whole thing was your fault. If it hadn't been for your colossally stupid idea about the brownies this whole nightmare never would've happened. I could have just gone out there, shaken a few hands, maybe sung a chorus or two of the Ballad of Spectrum and everything would have been fine."

"Yeah, I know," Jack agreed. "I'm sorry, Wray. I really am. Let me make it up to you. I know, I'll buy you lunch!"

Wray choked and covered his mouth.


End file.
